Read Online You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) by Erika Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erika Kelly
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sound of clacking on a keyboard.
Should he knock? He wanted to give her the sketch of the new logo, but he knew he didn’t like to be interrupted when he worked, so he dropped it outside her door and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. According to Derek, nothing drew her out like a fresh pot.
Just as expected, she came downstairs a few minutes later holding his drawing.
“Hey, what are you doing up at this hour?” she asked. She stood there in her white tank top and cotton pajama shorts, no makeup—she hadn’t even brushed her hair. Her breasts bounced with her every movement, and he got all stirred up just looking at her.
And there he went. Perving.
He’d said no yet again to the bevy of little lovelies last night just to spend this morning with her. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Who was she, exactly? “Hoped I’d catch you skinny dipping again.”
She ignored his comment, instead waving the sketch. “I love this. It’s just what I pictured. Only better.”
He lifted the pot to her.
“Sure, thanks. Now that we’ve got milk and sugar, I’d love some coffee.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Show this logo to the guys at rehearsal tonight. It’d be great to get new merchandise made in time for the new gigs.”
“You’ve booked us already?”
“Not yet. But, I mean, once I send out the press kit, it’ll happen fast. I’m trying to get you into the Austin City Lights Festival at the end of October.”
His heart slammed into his ribcage. “What?” She could do that?
“Yeah, I know the promoter. We’ve booked a bunch of bands with them over the years.”
He couldn’t form a single coherent thought.
She smiled. “It’s not that big a deal. Bands cancel all the time. We can always score a spot.”
He poured the coffee into his Steve Earle mug and set it in front of her. When she made to get up, he stilled her with a press of his palm on her shoulder and got the milk out of the refrigerator. “You think we’re ready for that?”
Her expression changed, and he liked that he could read her emotions. She didn’t try to impress or manipulate. She was true.
He sat down. “Tell me.”
Pouring some milk into the mug, she stirred it slowly, thoughtfully. “Again, this is just my opinion—”
“Emmie.”
“Yeah, okay. I know. It’s just most artists don’t take feedback well.”
His skin prickled, warmth saturating deep into his bones. She’d called him an artist. He was used to being called a man whore, a slacker. But who considered him an
artist
? Other than his mom, and she just thought he was wasting his talents with rock music, so it didn’t count.
Emmie drew in a breath. “You’ve got some great material. I told you that. It’s just . . .” She stirred her coffee, looking lost in thought. She inhaled, straightening. “To play a gig like this, you have to have the right set list, obviously. And you’ve got to know how to play to a huge crowd.”
“We’ve played big crowds before.”
“Sure, but you mostly play in clubs. On stage, you act like you’re playing for the groupies in the front row.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve been listening to your songs. You’ve got some rock anthem material. Some of your songs—like “Fiona”? If you just changed the chord progression leading up to the bridge, make it build to this huge breaking climax, you’d have a rock anthem good enough to rival anything by U2. But you just have to sing it like a rock god. Not like a guy who wants to get laid.”
“I don’t sing to get laid.”
“It seems like you do. That’s what it looks like.”
“Maybe it only looks that way for people who want to get laid?”
Again, she didn’t bite. No reaction whatsoever. “I just think it might be time to stop thinking about seducing your groupies and start thinking about wooing an entire stadium full of fanatics.”
He got up, finding it difficult to process her words.
“Are you angry?” she
Should he knock? He wanted to give her the sketch of the new logo, but he knew he didn’t like to be interrupted when he worked, so he dropped it outside her door and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. According to Derek, nothing drew her out like a fresh pot.
Just as expected, she came downstairs a few minutes later holding his drawing.
“Hey, what are you doing up at this hour?” she asked. She stood there in her white tank top and cotton pajama shorts, no makeup—she hadn’t even brushed her hair. Her breasts bounced with her every movement, and he got all stirred up just looking at her.
And there he went. Perving.
He’d said no yet again to the bevy of little lovelies last night just to spend this morning with her. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Who was she, exactly? “Hoped I’d catch you skinny dipping again.”
She ignored his comment, instead waving the sketch. “I love this. It’s just what I pictured. Only better.”
He lifted the pot to her.
“Sure, thanks. Now that we’ve got milk and sugar, I’d love some coffee.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Show this logo to the guys at rehearsal tonight. It’d be great to get new merchandise made in time for the new gigs.”
“You’ve booked us already?”
“Not yet. But, I mean, once I send out the press kit, it’ll happen fast. I’m trying to get you into the Austin City Lights Festival at the end of October.”
His heart slammed into his ribcage. “What?” She could do that?
“Yeah, I know the promoter. We’ve booked a bunch of bands with them over the years.”
He couldn’t form a single coherent thought.
She smiled. “It’s not that big a deal. Bands cancel all the time. We can always score a spot.”
He poured the coffee into his Steve Earle mug and set it in front of her. When she made to get up, he stilled her with a press of his palm on her shoulder and got the milk out of the refrigerator. “You think we’re ready for that?”
Her expression changed, and he liked that he could read her emotions. She didn’t try to impress or manipulate. She was true.
He sat down. “Tell me.”
Pouring some milk into the mug, she stirred it slowly, thoughtfully. “Again, this is just my opinion—”
“Emmie.”
“Yeah, okay. I know. It’s just most artists don’t take feedback well.”
His skin prickled, warmth saturating deep into his bones. She’d called him an artist. He was used to being called a man whore, a slacker. But who considered him an
artist
? Other than his mom, and she just thought he was wasting his talents with rock music, so it didn’t count.
Emmie drew in a breath. “You’ve got some great material. I told you that. It’s just . . .” She stirred her coffee, looking lost in thought. She inhaled, straightening. “To play a gig like this, you have to have the right set list, obviously. And you’ve got to know how to play to a huge crowd.”
“We’ve played big crowds before.”
“Sure, but you mostly play in clubs. On stage, you act like you’re playing for the groupies in the front row.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve been listening to your songs. You’ve got some rock anthem material. Some of your songs—like “Fiona”? If you just changed the chord progression leading up to the bridge, make it build to this huge breaking climax, you’d have a rock anthem good enough to rival anything by U2. But you just have to sing it like a rock god. Not like a guy who wants to get laid.”
“I don’t sing to get laid.”
“It seems like you do. That’s what it looks like.”
“Maybe it only looks that way for people who want to get laid?”
Again, she didn’t bite. No reaction whatsoever. “I just think it might be time to stop thinking about seducing your groupies and start thinking about wooing an entire stadium full of fanatics.”
He got up, finding it difficult to process her words.
“Are you angry?” she
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